


Inconvenienced

by Juli



Series: Days of Summer [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least one Englishman isn't happy about the Olympics coming to London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inconvenienced

**Author's Note:**

> I'm counting down the days of summer with a ficlet a day during August.

It was ungodly hot in London, unusually so. John Watson typically liked to sit inside his favorite neighborhood pub, but it didn’t have air conditioning. He wasn’t the only one who found the oven-like atmosphere unpleasant; the pub’s outdoor patio was packed. It wasn’t much cooler outside, but at least there was the possibility of a breeze wafting through every once in a while. It took some searching, but eventually John found a small table in the corner where he could nurse his beer and people watch while he waited for his lover. 

Sherlock understood the concept of being late and that it inconvenienced other people; he just didn’t think such paltry concerns applied to him. John was used to it and managed to wait without losing his patience too much. He was rewarded a little while later when Sherlock arrived. Not that John saw him at first. Sherlock making his way through the crowded patio was like watching a school of fish react to the arrival of a shark. They scattered, parting just enough to make him a path, and then regrouped when the danger had passed. It was that pattern of movement that John noticed before Sherlock himself was actually visible.

John was sipping his beer when Sherlock dramatically plopped himself in the chair on the other side of the table. How it was possible to slouch on such a small piece of furniture, John wasn’t sure, but somehow Sherlock managed it. Without a word, John slid the glass of beer he’d gotten for Sherlock across the table. Sherlock took a long pull before he answered.

“Bloody Olympics.” Sherlock’s scowl was fierce. “Brings in too many bloody tourists.”

“It’s good for the economy.” John calmly replied. He’d heard the complaint many, many times every day since the Olympic season had started. “It’s not forever, so just buck up and endure.”

It was as if John had never said a word – another phenomenon that occurred many times a day.

“Those prats are actually drinking their beer cold.” Sherlock sneered. “The condensation from their glasses has made the floor quite slick.”

“I’m sure it’s a health hazard.” John smiled faintly. “I’m a doctor; I can lodge a formal complaint with the health commission.”

“Don’t be a fool, John.” Sherlock had his phone out and his long, elegant fingers were dancing across its screen rapidly. “That’s what Mycroft is for.”

John hid his smile in his glass. Mycroft Holmes was one of the most powerful men in England, if not in all of Europe. No doubt he would be ecstatic to get a message from his little brother about how wet pub floors were a national emergency.

“Why are you so angry about London hosting the Olympics?” John asked. Sherlock might have an odd way of showing it, but he was as patriotic as any Englishman that John knew. “It’s quite the honor.”

“Is it?” Sherlock countered. “You can’t get decent food because every restaurant is serving fish and chips, because that’s what the tourists expect.”

“I like fish and chips.” John murmured, which earned him a glare from his lover.

“All the pubs are full to bursting, there are uniformed soldiers all over the city and it is impossible to get a cab.” Sherlock huffed. 

“That’s not why you’re mad.” John had picked up some observational skills of his own since working with Sherlock. “You just don’t like all these visitors in London.”

Sherlock’s eyes glittered, although John couldn’t tell if it was from anger at the situation or pride in the astute way that John had read him. “London is mine.” He glanced at John. “And yours.”

“There are over 8 million people who might argue with you on that.” John pointed out. 

Again, Sherlock ignored John’s comment.

“There’s so much attention on this bloody Olympics that nothing interesting is happening.” Sherlock complained.

“Nothing interesting?” John sputtered. “The world has come to London for the games, Sherlock. There are sports and ceremonies, not to mention parties and other events.”

“That’s the point.” Sherlock threw his hands up into the hair. “What was missing from that list?”

John didn’t bother to even think about it, sure that he was about to be told. “What?”

“Crime.” The word rolled off of Sherlock’s lips like the name of a lover. In fact, as he was currently Sherlock’s lover, John was certain that Sherlock uttered the word with far more intensity than he ever had John’s name.

“Let me sort this,” John sat up straighter. “You’re upset because there’s less crime during the Olympics.”

Sherlock snorted. “There’s plenty of crime, John. Petty, ridiculously mundane transgressions hardly worth the attention of Lestrade, let alone a consulting detective of my caliber.”

John signed and rubbed his temples. Even as experienced as he was with Sherlock-wrangling, sometimes he hit a snag. Luckily, working with Sherlock, he wasn’t stuck for long.

“Think of it as a game,” John suggested. “You could deduce where the tourists are from or what sports they prefer.”

The look Sherlock gave him was scathing. “That wouldn’t be a challenge for Anderson – or even Mrs. Hudson.”

“All right.” John was undaunted. “Think of this – with all of the extra foreign travelers, it would be easy for an unfriendly foreign power to insert a spy or even an assassin. Who else but you could detect a ruse like that?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, no doubt to mock John, but then his expression smoothed. He looked around the patio area more thoughtfully than he had before. John took a few more sips of beer, enjoying the moments without any complaining.

“John.”

There was something unusual in Sherlock’s tone. With some trepidation, John responded. “Yes.”

“You are either a genius or a very evil man.” Sherlock took a sip of his own beer. The admiration in his eyes made John blush.

“Why, Sherlock, I do believe that’s the best compliment you’ve ever paid me.” John smiled at him. “Actually, it might be the only compliment you’ve ever paid me.”

“Nonsense,” Sherlock waved off John’s statement. “I compliment you all the time.”

John considered that claim and then had to admit, if only to himself, that his lover was right. Sherlock didn’t tolerate many people, including his own family. That he not only allowed John to work closely with him, but had also taken the doctor to his bed showed exactly the regard that Sherlock had for him.

“Finish your beer, John.” Sherlock gulped down the rest of his own. “We’re going back to the flat.”

“We are?” John saw that Sherlock was impatiently tapping his fingers against the tabletop. “I guess we are.”

John finished his own beer and allowed Sherlock to pull him from the table. “Somehow I don’t think your sudden determination to go home has anything to do with freeing up a table for one of those tourists you love so much.”

To John’s surprise, Sherlock stopped abruptly and pulled John in close for a sudden, surprising and completely satisfying kiss. He was a little dazed as Sherlock released his lips; his lover may not give a rip for what others said or thought, but he also didn’t care for public displays of affection.

“We’re going home and we’re going to bang all night.” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear. “You deserve a reward for distracting me and I deserve to be distracted.”

John shivered. He loved hearing Sherlock saying vaguely slutty things in that elegant voice of his. “When you put it like that, I guess we’re both very deserving blokes.”

Sherlock put his arm around John’s waist and led him out of the pub. “With any luck, we’ll shag for so long that the bloody Olympics will be over by the time we emerge from the bedroom.”

And John had no retort for that. Instead, he simply nodded his head in agreement and hoped that, despite the crowd, they could get a cab.

Bloody tourists.

~the end~


End file.
